


The Chambers (Part II)

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [55]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Contracts, F/M, Kimono, Letters, Love Confessions, Love Letters, Pining, Politics, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25016746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: [Set prior to the beginning of the series]  While in service to the Chambers, Hisana makes a surprising discovery about her debt and makes two notable enemies.  Byakuya receives an offer from Shunsui.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Series: A Thin Red Line [55]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 8
Kudos: 6





	The Chambers (Part II)

Hisana imagines the pale autumn lights shimmering in the gloaming. She imagines how the sky catches flame, turning the clouds vibrant shades of ambers, burnt sienna, and lavender. She imagines being able to _see_ the day or the night or the rain or the wind.

Right then—even though her internal clock feels the twilight hours are upon her—she remains trapped meters under ground. She pulls a mint-green shawl around her shoulders as she huddles closer to a pile of documents detailing the proposed yearly budget for the Gotei 13.

Her brows knit together as she flips the page. Her task tonight is to check the math and to read through the bill’s language to ensure nothing untoward has been inserted, like a provision requiring the nobility to pay carte-blanche for trinkets purveyed to the Gotei 13 from the World of the Living.

“Who drafts these budgets?” asks Hisana.

“Officially, Squad One,” Lord Yogi replies.

“ _Un_ officially?”

“Captain Aizen and his adjutant, Vice Captain Ichimaru, are the ones providing testimony in support of the bill tomorrow. I suppose Squad Five, then, likely spearheads the substance of the effort this year.”

“Captain Aizen?” Hisana repeats his name under her breath. 

Her heart skitters a little as she considers the fact that Captain Aizen was her first failed patron. Or, rather, he was her first client to choose another oiran in her House over her. 

Many years ago, she had entertained him, and, well, they never quite hit it off. Two visits. He hadn’t even bothered with the third, which was . . . _a little insulting_. . . .

At the time, his rejection had smarted, but, as Hisana witnessed the conflict that his company seemed to inspire in Sakuran, she wondered if perhaps the fates had smiled on her. 

Sakuran doesn’t know that she won this particular battle for the captain’s affection. In the beginning, Hisana was happy keeping this particular secret, but, now, she isn’t so sure that Sakuran would claim victory.

“Is there something wrong?” Lord Yogi’s finger stops on the page, keeping his place, and he glances over at Hisana.

“It’s just,” she hesitates. Maybe she shouldn’t bother. Maybe it’s nothing. Her heart, however, gives a hard squeeze, and she says, “I don’t understand what this measure has to do with the budget.” 

With patient silence, Lord Yogi waits for Hisana to continue, attention fastened to her.

Hisana’s eyes hurry down the page to find the exact wording that sparks her concern. “Within thirty days after this Act shall take effect, a seated Shinigami of the Gotei 13 will no longer be required to submit his identifying information to be granted access to the Great Archives. Furthermore, for the twelve months prior to this Act’s effective date, all senior seated Shinigami’s identifying information collected by the Great Archives systems shall be purged.”

Lord Yogi’s brows pinch together at this. “How strange.” A pensive look creases his forehead, and his lips slope into a frown. “That would be an onerous reconfiguration of the Archives’ logging system, and it would require an administrative amendment to the current protocols that we have in place to prevent access to classified information. Also, what is the operational definition of ‘senior seated Shinigami’?”

Hisana scans the page for an answer. “Senior seated Shinigami refers to a Shinigami who either holds the rank of Captain or Vice Captain or who has held his seated position for at least fifty years or longer,” she reads the term aloud. “There is no mention of how to vet access to classified information.”

“Of course not,” he scoffs to himself, gaze flitting up, as if he’s trying to solve an equation that does not tally right. “I wonder which Captain requested that provision.”

“Why would anyone care about their ID being logged into the Archives to gain access to it? What could possibly be that sensitive?”

“Well, I can think of a few reasons. Only one of them without malintent,” says Lord Yogi. “The best possible explanation is that the shinigami is conducting classified research, the nature of which may be readily exposed if someone scrutinizes his or her Archives log. But, that’s not quite how the data is utilized. It’s mostly used to determine where certain resources may have gone and to ensure that only properly credentialed personnel can access certain classified information. Trust me when I say, _no one_ has the _time_ or the _energy_ or the _inclination_ to review even the Captains’ reading habits for fun. Any such request for that kind of extensive data pull would most likely be in connection with an investigation.”

“An investigation?” Hisana tilts her head to the side.

“Yes, if say, Squad Two has reason to believe that the Archives were being used to conduct illicit research that resulted in acts of treason or sedition.”

Hisana’s eyes widened at this thought, but, before she can respond, the rustling of the door sliding open silences her. 

“Lord Yogi,” greets Masao Kuchiki from the threshold.

“Kuchiki,” says Lord Yogi with a warm look, “have you met—”

“Miss Hisana!” Kuchiki says her name with great affection.

“Lord Kuchiki,” she says, bowing her head low.

“I take it you two have met.” Lord Yogi’s gaze shifts from Kuchiki to Hisana with a wry knowingness, as if he is editing his thoughts to his own amusement.

“What are you doing here cooped up behind that desk?” Kuchiki continues, turning his full attention to her and ignoring Lord Yogi’s dry observation.

“I’m helping Lord Yogi while his page is out sick,” she answers, cheeks warming under Kuchiki’s stare.

The young lord chuckles and throws a sideways glance at Lord Yogi, “Is that right?” Skepticism burns in his voice. “We can just conscript our favorite oiran into our service now?”

“Hush,” Lord Yogi says, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I’m training her.”

“To _what end_?” jibes Kuchiki.

“She’ll have to scrutinize the financial well-being of whatever estate she manages. Might as well learn how to do that now without the family breathing down her neck.”

Hisana chokes on own her spit and tries to hide the unladylike cough with a hard, wet swallow. “ _What_?”

Kuchiki trades an amused, but darkly perceptive, look with Lord Yogi. 

Hisana feels her breath strangle in her throat. _They know_ , her thoughts scream.

_They know about Tadahiro’s proposal._

A wild flush stings her cheeks, which elicits a kindly smile from Kuchiki.

She wants to faint. 

“Kuchiki,” Lord Yogi pivots, gesturing to the Gotei 13 bill that sits on the desk in front of Hisana, “you’re on the technology taskforce. What do you think of the current Gotei 13 proposal to remove the data-collection functionality of the Great Archives?”

Kuchiki startles at this question. “What?” His brows lower and bunch together, as if he finds the very notion _absurd_. “That’s in there?” Surprise knots in his voice.

Lord Yogi nods his head and shoots Hisana a glance that beckons her to pipe up.

“On page 1,115,” she says. “They want to remove the identification process for seated Shinigami and purge the existing data collected for senior seated Shinigami.”

“Why?” marvels Kuchiki. “Do they think we amuse ourselves with their reading habits in _all_ our _spare time_?” He turns his probing gaze to Lord Yogi.

Lord Yogi smirks and shrugs. “Your grandfather wouldn’t know what gives rise to this measure, would he?”

“Captain Kuchiki?” Kuchiki’s mouth slants to the side as he considers the question. “We have our own personal archive. I can’t see him wanting to change the data collection efforts. Is this something coming out of Squad Twelve?”

Lord Yogi shakes his head, seemingly rejecting the question. “Can’t say. Perhaps it’s worth raising during Captain Aizen’s testimony tomorrow.”

“Indeed. The amount of administrative and technical implementation of such a measure would be significant. Did they submit a budgetary impact statement?” asks Kuchiki, the warmth in his eyes going cold as he turns to Hisana.

Her gaze skitters back to the two relevant pages. “No impact statement given,” she says. “The provision seems stuffed in there. No preamble. Just a couple of lines, really.”

“Seems like they wanted to sneak it in,” notes Lord Yogi.

“Yeah, I’d say. Hiding it on page 1,115 of financial tedium,” Kuchiki sighs to himself. “I have tea scheduled with Captain Aizen tomorrow morning. I’ll raise it with him to preview his thoughts before the session starts.”

“So strange,” Lord Yogi mutters under his breath. “Good catch, Hisana.”

“Indeed. Well done,” Kuchiki agrees with a friendly glance. “You will make an excellent mistress of the manor.”

Hisana tenses, feeling heat smoke across her cheeks. She inhales a wet cough, forcing it down her throat.

“So why are you pestering me?” teases Lord Yogi, eyes fixing Kuchiki.

Kuchiki’s lips quirk into a boyish grin. “To ask you to review the budgetary analysis submitted in connection with the engineering contract we entered into with the Konoe family. The numbers seem a little off.”

“The numbers seem a little off or are you tired of looking at them?”

“Both,” Kuchiki says with a charming smile.

Lord Yogi jerks his head in Hisana’s direction. “Go ahead and give them to her. She’ll need the practice.”

Kuchiki’s entire face lights up when he turns to Hisana. “Excellent.” 

Hisana swears she can feel a piece of her soul _die_ at the prospect of reviewing Tadahiro’s proposed budget.

“Lord Konoe will be in the Chambers tomorrow afternoon, if you have the time to discuss your findings, then, Miss Hisana,” says Kuchiki hopefully.

“Of course,” she murmurs on a soft breath, voice retreating to a lower octave.

Masao Kuchiki gives her a fond bow before turning to say goodnight to Lord Yogi. When he leaves, Hisana can feel the weight of Lord Yogi’s attention needle her shoulders.

“Perk up, Hisana,” her says, “Tadahiro is very practical in these matters. Despite his reputation as of late.” Lord Yogi pauses for a moment, as if to consider his words carefully, “Tadahiro doesn’t rankle easily like some of the other highborn lords.”

Her gaze slips to Lord Yogi. She knows just how well Tadahiro likes to play his games. His fury is a quiet one, but it is no less deathly. “Of course,” she responds on a raspy note. 

Her gaze dives to the floor. Her eyes follow the dark spaces between each of the boards. She can feel Lord Yogi’s eyes on her, and she sees him straighten in her periphery, but she doesn’t move.

“I think I have something to cheer you up.” He shifts back on his cushion and pulls out the drawer to his desk. With decidedness, he plucks a stack of documents, all neatly bundled with a red string, and sets them on the top of his desk. “An accounting of your debts.” 

Hisana thinks he intends to take to his feet and bring her the papers, but she is swifter than he. With nimble grace, she shuffles to the front of the desk and takes the documents with a professional decidedness. “You have my sincerest gratitude, Lord Yogi. Thank you.”

He shakes his head, as if it were nothing. “As you’ll see, I’ve marked the lines with red where the costs were utter nonsense. I’ve had a few words with your mistress about some of the other items, and I noted the relevant information from those conversations in the margins.” He pauses, tilting his head back just enough to spy Hisana over the top of his glasses. “I trust that you’re fearsome enough to do the rest.” A sly grin curls his lips.

Hisana smiles into the pages. 

Yes, she will have plenty to say to _dear Mistress_ about some of these entries. 

Quickly, she flips through the sheets, heart kicking against her ribs, as she takes stock of her numerous debts, pleased to see many marked with red. When she arrives at the accounting of the trinkets and gifts bestowed upon her by her patrons, her heart flutters. Realization grips her first, squeezing cold and hard. Her mind, however, is quick to catch up. 

Something important is missing. Two important somethings, in fact, if she has interpreted the accounting correctly.

Hisana thumbs the pages back and forth, eyes roving the entries, like a dog stalking fresh meat.

“Is something the matter?” asks Lord Yogi, leaning forward to share her gaze of the pages.

She shakes her head. “I don’t—” she pauses, flipping back to the beginning of the tally. “I don’t—” She feels the burn of the wrinkle in her brow, “This can’t be.”

The expensive kimono that Tadahiro gifted her are absent. Part of her had been curious to know what value her House had assigned to them after Mistress’s declaration that they evidenced Tadahiro’s love for her. Hisana knows the lord loves money beyond all else. If Mistress’s read of the kimono had been correct, then the garments’ costs would have been _excessive._

And, yet . . . . Neither kimono were listed on her ledger.

“Is there a mistake?” he asks, gaze soaking in the sheet that she, too, examines.

Hisana’s heart gallops at the possibility that the kimono, and their purportedly extravagant value, inure to her benefit. Could that even happen? It is possible, she thinks. If Tadahiro imposed some sort of condition, pressed his hand, the House would’ve capitulated. Maybe that was what Mistress meant when she declared that Tadahiro had acted stupidly, vying with Hisana for the title. But, how would’ve such a condition been communicated? 

Hisana stares at the expenses that span five pages. She is unable to come up with a satisfying answer to the question of how such conditions could’ve been imposed, but she is equally as unable to stop the hope driving into her heart at the possibility that the kimono were actually _hers_. Hers to do with them as she may.

Like sell them to reduce her debt. Sell them to _clear_ her debt. She could buy her own contract if the kimono were as valuable as her Mistress alluded to. 

_Freedom_.

She stops herself, feeling like she is on the verge of taking a header off a cliff of dashed hopes. 

“No. I mean,” she says, yanking her thoughts away from breathless possibility, “it’s nothing.”

Lord Yogi lifts a brow. Color him skeptical, she thinks. 

“I’ll give you time to review before we discuss,” he says.

She glances up at him and smiles. The widest smile she has ever given a man, and she throws her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. “Thank you!” she says, cheek pressed against the silk of his shoulder.

He chuckles into her hair.

“Forgive me,” gasps Hisana, pulling away, “how improper.” Her eyes widen when she realizes what she’s done.

His chuckles turn into a full-throated laugh at the sight of her. “Not at all,” he says, patting her shoulder. “My wife and I owe you a debt larger than you believe.”

“Lady Yogi and you owe no debts,” she counters, head cocked to the side, giving him a hard stare. 

“Believe me, we do. This,” he says, tapping the top of the bundle with his index finger, “is a mere trinket in comparison.”

Hisana gives him a pitying stare, but before she can protest his gratitude, he gestures to the desk where she had been sitting for the last few hours.

“Before you go all mushy on me, do your work. I’m sure Lord Konoe’s analysis for the engineering project in the Seireitei will be your most challenging review yet.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs with an obliging glance before retreating to her corner of the room.

Hisana works into what she imagines are the throes of night. She has _mostly_ completed her review of Tadahiro’s budget, issuing a few hastily worded requests to various vendors, hoping to hear word from them in the morning before she must give her summary to Masao Kuchiki and _Tadahiro_.

And, yet, while she feels ready to crash into a coma on her messily made futon when she steps into her dormitory, Hisana diverts her trajectory to the little cedar writing desk centered in the middle of the wall facing the door. She drops to her knees on the tatami. In one instant, she has set a blank sheet, and, in the next, she has prepared the ink. Her first letter is an easy one to Yua and Shunsho, asking for an accounting of her kimono. 

She wants to be sure that Tadahiro’s kimono have not mysteriously disappeared.

Her next letter goes to Tojuro and states:

> _Dear Tojuro:_
> 
> _You are my sun, my moon, my stars, and my night skies, except far more beautiful than any of these combined._
> 
> _As you have probably gathered from the tone of this letter, I am writing to ask you for a favor._
> 
> _A great favor._
> 
> _Don’t stop reading._
> 
> _I may have come into some wealth in the form of two outrageously expensive kimono from Lord Konoe. I know several of your admirers may be in need of such kimono, and I was wondering if you would serve as a go-between for me so that I may locate a buyer and off-load these garments._
> 
> _As always, I am happy to share in any wealth that may result from this endeavor._
> 
> _Please write me back to let me know you’ve received this letter._
> 
> _Greatest love and admiration,_
> 
> _H._

Hisana seals the letters to her attendants and Tojuro in small envelopes and then sets out to review her current tower of letters. 

Lovers. She sets these missives aside in a pile that steadily grows each night.

Okuni and Tojuro have written a joint note, which she is sure is nothing less than a drunken duet to delightful debauchery and depravity. 

_Suiko_. Hisana peels back the flap of the envelope. She tugs the letter out and unfolds it. 

> _Dearest Hisana,_
> 
> _Things seem to be moving forward . . . which is better than going backwards, I guess. (Or, is it? At this point, I am unsure what even to hope for.)_
> 
> _Lord Byakuya has thawed slightly in my company, but his thoughts are quick to scatter elsewhere when we are together. I believe they scatter to you._
> 
> _I inquired after his distraction, and, while I don’t think I am supposed to confide this worry to you, I believe his correspondences are not reaching you. I offered to act as an intermediary, but he would not accept my offer._
> 
> _I thought you should know this, just in case you are expecting letters that are not reaching you due to familial meddling. I know how fond you are of our dear lord, and he seems so out of sorts without your thoughts to call his own. I have offered your thoughts to me as salve, but he refuses._
> 
> _If I am being completely honest, though, I do not think I can bear another episode of his pacing and distant glances to the door. A word from you would spare me this fate, Hisana. Please send him a letter to let him know how you are faring. He is becoming more despondent with each day._
> 
> _And, if you are receiving his letters and refusing to respond, then, please, I beseech your sisterly affection when I ask you to write to him, if only to let him know that you do not intend to respond. He is an incorrigible grump, and I think your words might cure him of this affliction._
> 
> _Please. I beg of you._
> 
> _Warmest regards,_
> 
> _Suiko_

Hisana frowns and runs her thumb over Suiko’s beautiful script. “Lord Byakuya,” she murmurs. 

Of course his family would be intercepting his communications and withholding them from her. They had ensured their separation for at least a month. Why had she been so quick to declare his silence coldness?

 _Foolish_.

And . . . yet . . . . 

As much as she wants to reply, Hisana is too tired to order her thoughts for either Suiko or for Byakuya by proxy. The latter will be a more difficult letter to write, she thinks, as she must assume it will be reviewed by Suiko. 

Setting her elbow against the edge of the desk, Hisana’s eyes sting like she has poured glass into them. When she moves, however, the tower of letters that she has accumulated over the last month topple over, and the book Lord Byakuya gave her before she left his family’s manor clatters to the tatami.

She stares as the letters spill across the floor, some thumping lightly against the baseboard of the adjoining wall. 

“So graceful,” she chastens herself inwardly, and she leans over, reaching for the book first.

It has a lovely blue leather-bound cover, and it contains a collection of old folklore. She managed to get through three stories before Lord Yogi stole the remainder of her free-time for himself. She hadn’t been able to touch the book since. 

Until right then.

Her fingers coil around the coarse, dimpled binding. She thinks she has a firm hold on it, but it’s heavier than it seems, and it slides away from her palm. Crashing to the floor, the cover and pages splay open, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Silently, she prays that she hasn’t _broken_ it.

It is an older book, likely having been handed down to several generations of Kuchiki lords. 

Tenderly, she grasps the book with both hands now, but, as she takes hold of it, she finds a loose page has escaped. She stiffens. Fear rises like a storm off the horizon in her belly. 

The page has yellowed, but it appears _younger_ , _brighter_ than the book’s other pages. 

Setting the book safely back on her desk, she plucks the page between her fingers and turns it over. 

_Lord Byakuya?_

Her heart drops the beat. A private heat curls in her stomach as her eyes soak in the lovely handwriting.

A war of words—some scratched through, others lapping and snarled—contained in a long-abandoned love letter. As she reads, she notices the subtle shifts in style and tone. He is fighting with himself, struggling with the words to say and the ones to edit. She can tell he wants her to know his heart, but he doesn’t want the vulnerability such a demonstration entails. A fine romance, however, doesn’t deal in half-measures. It basks in fear and heady bravado, like taking a dare to jump off a cliff.

Sane people don’t willingly throw themselves from cliffs. But, those in love can hardly be judged sane. And, Lord Byakuya teeters close to the edge, flirting with the urge to fight gravity. She knows this feeling well because she, too, has her own collection of half-written letters to him. None of which he will _ever_ find because they have all been fed to fires over the years.

 _She hopes_.

Hisana scans the back of the letter to see the date.

 _Four years ago_.

It feels like another lifetime. 

Reading on, Hisana finds the passage where Byakuya abandons all hope of ever sending the missive and writes for himself, changing from declarations of fidelity to introspective writing. It begins half-way down the page, and it wallops her hard.

> _I have missed you endlessly in the throes of my grief. Your thoughts, I think I miss the most. Next your warmth. Lastly, I miss your kind eyes. You always look upon me as if you are already forgiving my next mistake._
> 
> _I deserve none of it._
> 
> _I have betrayed your affections completely during this period. In so doing, I have spent your loyalty on the virtue of countless others._
> 
> _Realizing that an explanation does not excuse my actions, I must share this confession: I was convinced my attachments had become a weakness. Beloved mentors, friends, and, now, my father have all left me; each have taken a piece of me with them to their graves._
> 
> _To love is to grieve, and I didn’t want the burden any more._
> 
> _After my father died, my thoughts drifted to you. I wanted the comfort of your presence. I wanted to know your touch, your heat, your confidence, and to feel the steadiness of trust. I wanted you._
> 
> _This yearning frightened me. I was afraid that it would blossom into a heavy burden. I was afraid that I would be unable to bear this burden in your absence._
> 
> _I called this bond a weakness and sought to rid myself of it. Carelessly, I tried to burn this flaw from my heart with the heat and affectations of others. I wanted a pale imitation of what I felt in your company; I wanted something or someone who could fill the emptiness but who could never reach me._
> 
> _I wanted devotion without bending a knee myself._
> 
> _False supplication was what I found. Women were eager to ply me with pretty words and soft caresses. None of them true. All wanted the title, but were quick to reject the man who bore it._
> 
> _When I received your letter, I realized the extent of my recklessness. Your words reminded me that there was warmth, true and loving, in this world. It reminded me that the ones worth fighting for are also worth the toll of a heavy heart. It reminded me that the bonds in life do not break in death._
> 
> _Your letter also reminded me that there is a pain worse than mourning: Regret._
> 
> _In your letter, you open with a line saying that you didn’t think your words would find me, or, if they did, I wouldn’t care. I care. Deeper than you may ever know. Deeper than I can ever find the words to express, and I wish to spend my days proving this to you._
> 
> _Forgive me for my carelessness. Now and always._

Hisana holds the pages of his letter fast to her heart. She knew he cared. Knew all along. Since their third meeting, when he gave her his heart and refused her body as payment for it.

Immediately, she reaches for a blank sheet and her writing brush. “Dear Lord Kuchiki,” she begins, inky words flowing across the paper, “you should have sent the letter trapped in the pages of your book sooner. . . .”

* * *

The next morning comes fast. Hisana’s spine creaks when she forces herself out of bed. Her eyes are dry and shot through with broken vessels. She drags herself across the room, and wearily wraps herself in the simple blue kimono and red apron of her current station.

Running a comb through her tangled tresses, she pins up her hair and is out the door. Her hands are still working the ties of her apron when she arrives at the café outside of the Diet Building. 

What she would give to see the sun or sky or _nature_. Glancing up, however, only reveals cold industrial blues of the underground facility. So caught up in estimating the great heights of stone and steel that tower over her, she nearly misses Masao Kuchiki’s beckoning wave.

Swiftly, she pivots off her stride and turns to him with enough time to spare a smile. “Good morning, Lord Kuchiki,” she greets, not realizing who sits at his side until it’s too late to flee.

Captain Aizen and Vice Captain Gin Ichimaru each lift his head to acknowledge her.

She offers the men tea and food, takes their orders, and is off.

When she returns, Kuchiki regards her warmly. “Miss Hisana,” he introduces her, like her name carries a measure of importance. 

It doesn’t, and she stares, a little shocked at the formality.

“This is Captain Sōsuke Aizen and Vice Captain Gin Ichimaru,” continues Kuchiki.

“A pleasure meeting you all,” she murmurs to her feet.

“My, what a lovely Rukon accent you have,” the fox-faced Vice Captain says in a polite drawl. His smile, which has been a permanent fixture on his face since she first laid eyes on him, inches ever longer.

Hisana glances down at the man, repressing the urge to scowl. 

She does not have a Rukon accent, having had it beaten out of her as a child. But, she lets it go. Mostly. 

“As do you, Vice Captain,” she retorts.

“Which district?” he asks, lifting his face up.

His question disarms her for a moment. Few, if any, of the patrons in the Pleasure Quarters _care_ where the paid entertainers hail from, making the district a rare place where class is largely forgotten.

But, she’s not in the Third District anymore. She’s in the Seireitei. And, class is serious business here.

“Inuzuri,” she answers, voice steady and even. 

“Oh?” His head lists to the right, as if he finds this perplexing. She can’t tell where his glance lands through his upturned eyes, but she knows it is on her when he adds, “Quite a bit farther than where I’m from.”

Her smile shortens at his not-so-subtle barb. 

“Miss Hisana possesses a rare talent to have come so far,” Captain Aizen intervenes. 

Briefly, Hisana wonders at the Captain’s words. Did he compliment her talent as an oiran? Or _insult_ her by stating that her talent merely lay in social climbing? 

She is remembering now why she and the Captain never quite hit it off.

“Indeed,” Kuchiki says, gaze kind and warm, as if he either chooses to ignore the captain’s insult or is oblivious to it. 

“Your kind words are too much,” she says, careful to remove the iron from her tone. She distracts herself by filling Kuchiki’s cup with tea first, then the captain’s, and, lastly, the vice captain’s.

Hisana steps back a pace. “I’ll leave you to your discussions of the budget,” she says as a farewell, but, before she can turn and _flee_ , she sees the captain’s forearm bump against the teacup. 

With fluid grace, Hisana manages to catch the cup just as it tips over the edge of the table. 

Biting back a yelp, she braces against the scalding burn of the tea that sloshes over her hand, turning her skin the color of overripe cherries. Relief eases the tangled breath from her chest when she realizes that her pain was not in vain. The cup is firmly in her hand, not shattered fragments on the ground.

She lifts her head and smiles up at the captain, who appears genuinely surprised at his clumsiness.

“Please,” he says, eyes wide as he reaches for a cloth napkin, “forgive me.” He gently takes her wounded hand in both of his and pats her palm and wrist dry.

“No,” replies Hisana on a placating trill, “these tables are very small. More than _two_ people and things become decidedly _crowded_.”

The Vice Captain shifts a little in his seat at her words.

Masao Kuchiki leans closer and begins wiping away remnants of the spill from near his foot. “Are you alright, Hisana?” he asks, eyes fixing the red splotches spanning the corner of her thumb to the base of her wrist.

Hisana nods. “Happens at least ten times a day.”

Exhaling a small breath, Hisana cleans up the little mess with a few dabbing wipes of a cloth napkin she keeps stuffed in her apron pocket. Once reasonably tidy, she straightens a little, ready to pull to her feet. Foresight, however, stops her just in time to see the tip of the Vice Captain’s elbow knock into his cup, sending it crashing to the ground.

Time slows as Hisana watches helpless to do anything as the cup falls in a downward slope from the table. It hits the concrete ground with a loud _clatter_ , the noise of which _echoes_ through the café. From her periphery, Hisana can see the shifting shoulders and turning heads as wisemen and judges alike twist in their seats to get a good look at the source of the clatter. 

Frustration boils in Hisana’s veins, searing her hotter than Captain Aizen’s tea had managed, when she sees the hundred tiny, razor-sharp shards of expensive porcelain scattered across the floor.

Hisana glances up at the Vice Captain, careful to hide the embers of anger flowing through her. 

He peers down at her. The sharp line of his mouth curls ever upward. “Oops,” he says on a long, _unconvincing_ note.

 _Oops_. The sound reverberates through her. Mocking her. Teasing her. Just like his infernal grin. 

“Oh, dear, this is quite the scene,” says Captain Aizen, turning to help her.

“No, don’t, please,” she says, standing. “The pieces are very sharp. Don’t trouble yourself. Let me.” Hisana gives precisely two bows, one to Kuchiki and another to the Captain, and is off toward the little service area.

“A broken cup this early?” Sotan calls from behind the counter. He is putting a few finishing touches on the grilled fish and rice, when she glances over at him.

“Yes,” she says with such venom that she worries that she might have poisoned Sotan accidently.

He blinks. “I take it you got no sleep last night.”

“I did not. But, that’s not the problem.” Hisana lets the sleeve of her kimono fall back to reveal her burn.

His gaze trails down her arm, eyes widening with shock. “What? Two?”

“Same table,” she grumbles, glancing through the sliver of light between the curtains. 

“They were mad that you caught the first cup.”

Hisana thinks that she wouldn’t care so much if the broken cups didn’t also tally on her ledger. But, part of her thinks that she would still try to spare them from breaking even if she didn’t have to pay to replace them.

“Well,” she says on a low breath, “if they want me to linger then they can ask. They don’t need to knock the cups off the tables.”

“And if they asked?” Sotan challenges her with a raised brow. “Would you stay?”

 _No_. _No, she would not._

“I thought so,” he says with a knowing look.

Hisana hates Sotan’s knowing looks. 

“Who was it?” he asks, readying a new teapot for her.

“Captain Aizen and Vice Captain Ichimaru. Although, I think Captain Aizen’s was accidental. His vice captain, however, acted with intent.” What she wants to say is _malice_. Although, she thinks she _might have_ brought it on herself with her snide remark.

“Interesting. Are they here to represent the Gotei 13’s interests?”

She nods.

“I see.”

“Does Captain Aizen often represent the Gotei 13’s interests among the Chambers?”

Sotan nods. “I see him more often than I do the other Captains. Actually,” he pauses, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, “I rarely see any of the other captains. Maybe the Captain Commander. _Maybe_ Captains Kyōraku or Ukitake. But, very rarely.”

She tilts her head. How interesting, she thinks. She wonders if Captain Aizen might have an affinity for the Chambers. She has never heard Lord Byakuya mention dealing with the legislative body. Tadahiro occasionally has administrative matters before them, like this afternoon. 

Her frown deepens at this thought.

“Your food and drink, milady,” he says with a wry wag of his brows.

“You are a gift and a pleasure, Sotan,” says Hisana with a smile in her voice.

“Don’t forget the broom,” he calls after her.

She doesn’t. She has learned long ago how to carefully pack herself. Years as an attendant to other courtesans, schlepping items back and forth, has made her the consummate server. 

With a sunny glance, she serves the men their tea and food. And, as quiet as she can manage, she sweeps the shards.

“Do you know anything about this provision that concerns the Great Archives?” she hears Kuchiki’s kind intonations, and she casts a furtive glance in the Captain’s direction.

Captain Aizen leans close to the page that Kuchiki offers. His brown eyes soak up the ink, and, with an assured nudge, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The provision about identifying information, you mean?”

“Yes. The amendments to our data collection systems seems unexpected.”

“I see. This is odd language to have made it into the bill,” the Captain agrees.

“Miss Hisana caught it,” notes Kuchiki, glancing askance at her.

“She did?” pipes up Vice Captain Ichimaru. “I didn’t know that oiran were allowed to mingle with the wisemen and judges.”

Hisana doesn’t miss the whiff of opprobrium in the vice captain’s statement. 

“Lord Yogi’s page has taken ill, and I believe Miss Hisana has demonstrated a fondness for financial analysis,” Kuchiki says.

A protest strangles in Hisana’s chest. No. She is _not_ _fond_ of financial analysis. Not in the slightest. 

But…. 

Lord Yogi had offered her an opportunity to seize some measure of power. Hisana isn’t a stupid woman. She would never reject an opportunity just because the cost was boring tedium.

“What a fine mind, then,” says Captain Aizen, gaze darting to her. “Please, sit, Miss Hisana, and share your thoughts with us.” A bright light glints in his glasses when he raises his chin.

Every molecule in Hisana’s body urges her to run. She feels like wounded prey to his hungry wolf. Her brows bunch together, and fear floods her like icy lake water floods the lungs of a drowning man. 

She pushes it back. Searching his eyes, she finds nothing. They are empty. And, briefly, she wonders if he wants her to cower.

He is a captain of the Gotei 13, right? He didn’t get there because of his sterling personality. No. Power is demanded and claimed; it is not offered freely. 

Hisana lifts her head and glances down at him, gaze hardening. “A privilege, Captain.”

“You can sit here.” Vice Captain Ichimaru offers her a seat between him and Aizen with a smirking glance.

No. She will not sit _there_ , trapped between two unfamiliar men, one of whom has added more to her insurmountable debt. She must extract herself politely.

“Oh,” she says, voice diving to a lower octave as her eyes lock on the chair, “I believe I see fragments on this cushion,” she murmurs, taking it in her hands and lightly dusting it near the pan that holds the other razor-sharp pieces of the vice captain’s teacup. 

When she returns, she pointedly sets the chair between Masao Kuchiki and Captain Aizen. “What would you like to know, Captain?” she practically sings her question, hoping the forced intimacy will distract him from the fact that she presses closer to Kuchiki than him.

Captain Aizen regards her warmly enough, but she can’t help but see how still the lines of his face become. He is taking her measure, she thinks. He had done the same during their two visits together at the Peony House. When she entertained him, he had all the grace of a gentleman, but there seemed to be _more_ lingering behind his stare—stares that could turn from warm to vacant in a flash—or behind his words, which were always so carefully plotted that they haunted her when she turned in for bed in the evening. 

In her youth and inexperience, Hisana had thought herself mad. But, she is convinced that the true madness lies in the dark spaces between his words and glances. It lies in the indirectness of his meaning, the possible interpretations of his intent. It is the sort of madness that leaves you lying cold in bed replaying conversations, convinced that certain threads, if tugged sufficiently, would have unspooled a darkness you know undulates. But, it is madness, you tell yourself, doubting your own mind. Doubt comes easy in the face of a Captain so well-regarded and so-honored. 

No wonder Sakuran fears him. Tragedy finds powerless women with greater ease than men who wield privilege like a sword, and it spends them twice as viciously. 

“How did you find it?” he asks, voice mild, his brown eyes softening.

“It sort of sticks out, no?” she says softly, gaze drifting to him. “It’s lodged between two important financial provisions, one expanding funding to Squad Twelve’s Research and Development unit and the other asking for increases to the budge to combat inflation for renovations and repairs.” She flips back a few pages to show him the beginning of the proposed R&D spend for the year.

“You’re correct. I don’t know how I missed this. I also don’t know how it was introduced.”

“For a technology provision that would require administrative amendments to our current protocols, we would likely need to dedicate a few hours of inquiry to determine how to implement protocols compatible with the proposed changes that would still protect classified information in the Archives. In addition, a financial impact analysis may be required for the programming challenges involved. The Archives’ systems are fairly dated and would likely require modernization,” says Kuchiki. “Are you prepared for that sort of inquiry today, Captain Aizen?” Kuchiki asks the question so mildly, but Hisana can hear the dare in his words. He knows that the Captain isn’t prepared, particularly if he doesn’t know who introduced the language in this particular bill.

“I do not believe either Ichimaru or I could speak competently to the measure,” says the Captain.

“Would you prefer we strike this provision at the beginning of the testimony today? It could be introduced next quarter if it is a sticking point for one of the Squads.”

Captain Aizen agrees with a nod of his head. “A fair point. I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention prior to walking into the Chambers. I hate being caught unawares.” His gaze slides to Hisana, and he offers her a polite bow of his head. “Thank you, as well, Miss Hisana.”

“We should be going,” notes Kuchiki, gaze averting to the Diet Building, which is being swarmed by wisemen, pages, and attendants. He then turns to Hisana and offers her a bow of his head. “Thank you, again. I will see you later this afternoon.”

Hisana takes to her feet, offering the men each a bow. “Good luck with your testimony,” she says quietly.

After they bid their farewells, Hisana watches the men retreat inside the Diet. 

* * *

The remainder of Hisana’s day passes quietly. The legislative session is an endless one, which means there are few patrons to frequent the café. So, she spends the time flipping through the pages of the book on folklore that Lord Byakuya had given her and chatting with Sotan and Kamegiku.

Masao Kuchiki’s page comes to collect her late in the afternoon. He leads her deep into the offices, to a small room, where Masao Kuchiki waits sitting across from Tadahiro Konoe. 

Hisana feels her lungs expel all the breath from her body when she sets eyes on Tadahiro. He is all she sees in her panicked horror, and he stands immediately upon receiving her.

“Hisana,” he says her name so quietly that she barely registers that he’s said anything at all. There is also a strange expression on his face, one that Hisana does not immediately place. It looks to be a cross between anticipation and fear.

“Oh,” says Kuchiki, “do you two know one another?”

Hisana thinks the young wiseman asks the question in jest, but, when she turns to him, she can see that he is quite sincere with brows raised and head tilted to the side. “Yes,” she says, voice failing her, eyes finding Kuchiki.

Tadahiro’s gaze, however, never breaks.

“I see.” Recognition lights Kuchiki’s face, as if he is only remembering just _how_ the two may have become acquainted. “Have a seat, Miss Hisana.” 

Kuchiki hands her the revised proposal and they begin, going through it in rigorous detail. Hisana half-listens to the part that Kuchiki appears to be most well-versed on, which are the engineering plans. Aside from learning that the Seireitei is a frequent beacon for _calamity_ and is always in a state of being repaired due to attacks from dissidents and outside forces, her thoughts mostly drift along until the men move on to the expense projections.

Tadahiro answers her questions convincingly enough, and she makes notes of his answers. When she asks him about the discounts that he receives for buying to scale, she knows she has caught him. His eyes twinkle at her, and his lips curve into a smirking grin.

“Do you pass on the discounts pursuant to the terms of the contract?” The glint in his eyes tells her that he had planned on keeping the difference.

“Of course,” he says.

“Have you executed the contracts from your suppliers?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“Are the contracted prices reflected here?” She gestures vaguely to the papers.

His face smooths into a look of amusement. “I would have to ask my associates to confirm.”

“Would you mind providing the contracts?”

His gaze flickers to Kuchiki for a moment, as if he is considering whether to push back against this request, but when he meets her stare, he capitulates with a quiet, “Yes. That can be arranged.”

She notes the agreement in her papers. “We can adjust the figures to reflect the contracted prices and associated discounts once we have the contracts.”

Tadahiro grins at her. It is softer, but, even though, she does not mistake the edge in his eyes.

When they conclude their discussions, Hisana stands close to Kuchiki. Her heart drums a quick tempo in her chest, and stupid, beautiful hope fills her. They are so close.

And, then, Tadahiro pauses and says the words. “Could you spare Miss Hisana for a moment?” he asks Kuchiki, who submits with a bow of his head.

Tadahiro opens the door to the office and steps out. His stride, usually so long and swift, shortens as he waits for her.

It takes every bit of willpower Hisana has to override the urge to remain frozen in Masao Kuchiki’s office. Leaden, she moves with great effort, stiffening her gait. She doesn’t know where they are going, where they are. But, she follows, wordless, eyes fixing the floor.

She stops once they are securely tucked inside a small dimly lit room. A low flame eats into the dread and darkness, sending shadows skittering across the walls and shoji. 

Hisana clutches her arms, hugging her chest, and she turns slightly, hips jutting out, to stare sidelong at Tadahiro, who stands by the door that he just slid shut. The space feels intimate. It smells of old parchment and dried ink. 

“Did you receive my letter?” he asks, and, for once, Hisana hears the sound of uncertainty well in his voice. It sounds knotted, fraying his breath and clipping his syllables.

“I did,” she replies. 

He stares at her. The thick shadows veil his eyes, but she can still see their gleam, glistening like wet stones at night. 

“Why?” she rasps out. “Why?”

He shortens the distance between them, pressing close to her. They aren’t touching, but she feels the expectation thicken between them. She wonders how long she can avoid the heat of him.

“You are what I want.”

“What you want?” Hisana echoes in whispered disbelief. “What you want tonight, perhaps. But, what about the night after that or the weeks after that or the years that will pile? Will you want me when no one else does?” 

Hisana isn’t foolish enough to believe Tadahiro’s affection toward her isn’t motivated in large part by his rivalry with Lord Byakuya. He wants the chase; not the kill, she tells herself.

“No doubt you speak of the young Kuchiki lord,” he says on a heavy breath, “but I have wanted you long before I knew of your connection to him.”

She grimaces at this.

“You don’t believe me?” A disbelieving chuckle strangles his words. “I did not know about your connection to Byakuya until the last Cherry Blossom Festival. After your performance, I saw how he came to you, the way he sought your attention, your approval, even. Byakuya Kuchiki seeks no commoner’s attention, let alone their approval. He betrayed your connection in an instant. Before then, I only knew that I couldn’t purchase all your time because you were heavily invested in by the Kuchiki. But, I hadn’t the faintest idea whose affections of that vast family that you had stolen.”

She pales at his words. 

His body slants closer. When he bends his head to be level with hers, the precious little space between them further diminishes. His mouth hovers close. She can smell the tea on his breath and the clean scent of sandalwood and lotus flower that clings to his silks. 

Hisana is afraid that one careless move is all it will take for him to kiss her. So, she goes still. Frigid. Ice-cold.

“Does that surprise you?” he asks, his voice low and rough. His gaze drifts to her mouth. “That I want all your time? That I never wanted a rival?” He waits, watching her like he wants to see the words form on her lips before he hears them.

To Hisana, it sounds like a pretty lie. 

She doesn’t doubt he inquired after her time or that he was denied the entirety of it. But, she knows—deep in her heart—that his thwarted attempt to possess something he wanted presented an irresistible challenge. She knows that his passion for her lies in that challenge, the impossibility of taking what he feels entitled to.

“Why, Tadahiro?” she asks, eyes searching him. “Why?”

“Because you could turn me into a decent man.”

She wants to laugh at this thought. Hard. Violently. Men were always looking to women for redemption and laying that impossible expectation at the woman’s feet like it was a trophy. 

It is no trophy.

“You would turn me into a demon.” The words escape her, low and coarse, and she holds her breath as she waits for the sting of his frustration.

His lips lengthen into a sharp and treacherous line, and he lowers his mouth to hers. Hisana squeezes her eyes shut, and she braces for the weight of his lips against hers. 

“Too late for that,” he whispers, breath hot against the shell of her ear. 

She jerks back, eyes wide, a gasp on her lips. 

Tadahiro straightens his back, and sweet distance sweeps between them. 

Hisana glances up at him. She expects to see venom and frustration on his face. What she finds instead is a pensive stare.

“Consider my offer, Hisana,” he says and offers her a small bow of his head. 

She watches him turn and leave. She hears the retreat of his footfalls. But, his presence still lingers in that room. She feels his heat as if he never left. The skin of her ear prickles, remembering his whispered assessment of her.

She trembles at the thought that he is right in his assessment. Maybe there is no hope at redemption for her, either.

* * *

Byakuya stares into the bulbs strung across the market. They burn bright against the darkness of night. At his side is Suiko. She is taking in the festival with childlike wonder. Ahead of him are Grandfather and Lord Heishi. Byakuya doesn’t miss the stolen glances from either of them, and, feeling cold and vacant in his duties, he can’t quite determine how either of them judge his performance.

He no longer protests his duties to Suiko. He dispatches them with the same efficiency that he dispatches all of his other loveless obligations.

“Oh,” says Suiko, her voice tugging his attention to her, “I forgot.” She pats against her breast and withdraws a letter tucked into one of the layers of her silks. “From Hisana.”

He stares at her, uncomprehending. “I don’t—” he begins.

“It’s to you, don’t worry. I told her of your troubles reaching her, and she wrote to you.”

His brows bunch together. “Why?”

Suiko shrugs. “Because I felt I owed her this kindness. She has been remarkably patient with me, and we both care about you, and you—” She gestures vaguely at him as if his current appearance belied a troubled mind. “Also, if this arrangement is going to work, then we are all going to need to learn to set aside our pride.”

He takes the missive from her. “Thank you.”

Her brows fly up, and a toothy smile splits her lips. “Wow. Did you, the heir to the Kuchiki title, just _thank me_?” Sarcasm coats her words.

Byakuya grins slightly. “I mean it.” Holding this letter ushers in a feeling he had long forgotten existed: Hope.

Tenderly, he tucks the letter into his robes.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” she asks, voice teasing him.

“Yes.”

“Like right now?”

He stares askance at her. What is she really asking him? “Do you want to _watch_ me read the letter?” Absurd.

“Yes. I think you owe me at least one happy moment.”

“All my moments are happy moments,” he says deadpan.

“I know you practice your glower in the mirror in the morning so you are well-aware that your happy moments are few and far between.”

His eyes drift to his grandfather, whose head is bent toward Lord Heishi.

“C’mon!” she begs, “It’s going to be a good letter.”

“How would you know?”

“A feeling,” she says and pauses to read the lines of his face. “I didn’t read it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

That’s _exactly_ what he thinks, but, before he can chastise her for being nosy, his voice is eclipsed by the earthy baritones of a captain who Byakuya has come to associate with gaudy women’s wear and meddling. 

“Captain!” yips Suiko, eyes wide.

“Captain Kyōraku,” Byakuya greets with a bow of his head.

“Lady Heishi, may I steal Byakuya for a moment? I promise to return him in more or less the same _dour_ state.” Kyōraku says, eyes gleaming with what Byakuya can only assume is a bad idea.

“Yes, Captain.” She snaps into a bow.

“Do I get a say—” Byakuya starts.

“I think you will want to hear this.” says Kyōraku.

Reluctantly, Byakuya trails behind the captain through the crush of the market. When they reach the small bridge that spans the stream that flows in the direction of Squad Thirteen, the crowd thins. Kyōraku’s cadence slows, and Byakuya draws to his side.

“Would you happen to have an interest in purchasing two very expensive kimono?” the captain asks, a clever smirk pulling the lines of his face askew.

Byakuya glowers at Kyōraku. “Is that what you wanted to ask me?” Byakuya is already turning on his heel when he bites out the reply.

“What if I were to tell you the proceeds would go to a very good cause?”

Byakuya pauses for a moment. “I’m not interested in charity,” he says and begins toward the market, where his grandfather is likely judging his absence _poorly_. 

“What if I tell you that it involves Hisana.”

Byakuya freezes. Silence gulfs them for a few long moments, moments that feel breathlessly endless. 

“Do I have your attention yet?”

Byakuya glances over his shoulder at Kyōraku. 

Yes. Kyōraku has Byakuya’s full attention.


End file.
